


Can't What Heart Won't

by ZarryFTZouis



Series: Chrissy's Oneshots [27]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Begging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZarryFTZouis/pseuds/ZarryFTZouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know the famous Zayn getting a shot of love with Louis...</p><p>What about Niall and Harry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't What Heart Won't

**Author's Note:**

> Might be killed for this.
> 
> //
> 
> Title from Union J's (Jaymi is my bae) "Can't Make You Love Me".

**(Canadians slangs galore)**

“POUTINE!”

Harry rolls his eyes at the ‘battle cry’ his Irish boyfriend has.

Well, Niall is technically Irish but he was born in Canada (“Newfoundland near that place where lots o’ Irish folks emigrated!”)

“You sound like I gave you all-you-can-eat buffet coupon,” Harry admonishes Niall’s cuteness. “Which is _not_ what I got you for your upcoming big ol’ 19 th.”

“Zayn told me there’s no way in hell he’s getting me a Saab,” Niall pouts cutely, making him look more like a mischievous Leprechaun though. “I told him he can’t possibly _not_ afford it.”

“As a reward for the scholarship into UT, yeah, he got ‘promoted’,” Harry represses his urge to roll his eyes for the second time. “I thought he’d go to SFU with Louis.”

“Louis probably used his magical arse powers to persuade him to not go to that horrid place,” Niall shrugs.

“You mean Zayn fucked Louis until he changed his mind,” Harry _does_ roll his eyes this time. “Or something similar.

“Whichever works the best,” Niall spears at least slices of potato to his fork. “Poutine is the best invention since bacon.”

“Bacon isn’t that good, and that’s a disputable origin,” Harry flicks his chips at Niall. “But poutine is good, so.”

“They have Cajun poutine in selected southern states,” Harry can hear the drool in Niall’s voice. “We should go.”

“We’re not having a World Food Tour,” Harry tries his best to look stern. “Even if Zayn gives your 20 grand for you like the last year—”

“He told me it’s higher this year with the shitty college tuition,” Niall sticks his tongue out. “But continue.”

“—20 grand plus this year, you said you’ll use half for your own personal shit and other half for the college fund,” Harry finishes. “Remind me why we’re at the freezing University of Alberta?”

“Because you love me and I love the classes here?” Niall pokes his finger in his mouth, a perfectly cute _childlike_ gesture. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“ _Not that bad_ translates into -30 winter and would you look at the forecast of first week of September? SNOW!” Harry uses his best dramatic voice. “Feels like snow in September, don’t it?”

“Hush you, it’s hard to see snow back home,” Niall retorts. “It’s probably the first time I saw snow that’s _not_ January days.”

“‘ _-28 with wind chill of -43’_ , yeah, I love this so much,” Harry grimaces. “Only good thing is that Zayn bribed the dorm people to let us room together.”

“Meaning that we don’t have to _sexile_ anyone,” Niall grins before ‘pouncing’ on Harry.

Over the first week, they managed to rechristen their dorm room with every known position known to men and let’s just say Harry is rearing for more.

“Um, we haven’t done it on the bathroom counter yet!” Niall frantically recalls the valuable information.

Like the (high school) sweetheart he is, Harry carries Niall’s small form to the bathroom, their shirts and earmuffs (the heater broke in their part of the Lister hall) and soon, they arrive at the bathroom only in their hated boxers.

(“Forty-t’ree seconds record for the time!”)

“Now, now, we took a nice bath right after dinner…” Harry grins, sucking on a mark on Niall’s otherwise porcelain skin. “So I don’t want to get _too_ messy.”

“Clean freak,” Niall chides lovingly. “Which is weird, given how much gravy I spilt tryin’a make that poutine.”

A lightbulb goes off Harry’s head.

He sets Niall down on the counter and hurries back to the ‘room’ part, getting the still-hot dish of poutine.

“I’m combining your two favourites together,” Harry tells the curious boy. “Poutine and sex, this has to be a first.”

“Does me eating Belgian-style waffle off of your deluxe abs count?” Niall queries. “Okay, maybe not.”

Harry waits for the food to cool down, so that it’s not too hot, but not too lukewarm either. He tests the temperature with his finger and lays a piece on Niall’s chest. The gravy starts to sip and pool around the bottom of the soggy (and slightly cheesy) slice of potato but it’s not getting sticky like Harry originally thought. With a smug smile, he lays several more, until there are two octagons around each nipple. He licks at the excessive gravy, making sure his tongue grazes against the budding nipple. Niall mewls like a newborn kitten at the skilful action, garnering a sinful smirk from Harry. He kisses his way down south to the happy trail and places some poutine fry pieces to the flat stomach. The fries don’t slide off, much to Harry’s content, and he repeats his actions until Niall is covered with the greasy food.

“Now this is how you woo someone in Canadian way, _mon chum_ ,” Niall giggles, apparently having gotten used to the now-chilly fries on his torso. “So now, kitty, what are you going to do to me?”

“I could start with this…” Harry dips his head down, licking up a fry into his mouth; the cheesy layer makes the taste delectable. “Mm, so salty and sexy, baby.”

“Only seven mont’s apart!” Niall protests feebly the moment Harry’s relentless lips close around the heated nub. Harry knows what he’s doing, with their _years_ of sexual activities literally everywhere and everything. Teasing is the first step of mind-blowing orgasm and—

“Fuckin’ hell, Harold, just stick it in already!”

Begging is the not-so-secret touch.

“So needy for my cock, yeah?” Harry continues to pluck off the soggy yet yummy pieces of food from Niall, each movement with his tongue snaking against the heating skin.

“So _relying_ on me,” Harry all but purrs his words, his tongue assaulting that sensitive path of skin right before the base of Niall’s standing-ovation dick. “Can’t let you come just from my tongue, love.”

“Evil kitty,” Niall huffs in defeat. “I swear, Harry Edward Styles, you are the worst tease in this fuckin’ world.”

“That’s a compliment,” Harry bows his head out of respect. “But, eh, I’ve heard worse.”

“Please, I’m the only boyfriend or significant other you ever had,” Niall rolls his eyes.

“I kissed Brittani in pre-school!”

“I told you that tripping and crashing your lips—literally—to the shy girl’s cheek doesn’t count,” Niall rolls his eyes. “Can we go on board with this?”

“Gladly.”

 

Once the poutine (and gravy) is completely licked off, Niall is finally feeling Harry’s thick shaft inside of him. They set off a gentle rhythm, so unlike the cusses they spat during the foreplay.

“Fuck, right _there_ ,” Niall groans in the sexiest fucked-out voice he can muster. “Fuck.”

“So wordy,” Harry grunts, his curls bouncing against those sexy shoulders—FOCUS ON SEX, NOT HOW YOU WANT HARRY’S HAIR AGAINST YOUR DICK, HORAN. His subconscious pretty much yells at him in all caps. “So wanton for me, yeah?”

“Ngh,” Niall says sexily, coating their stomachs with his second release that day.

“Love you, bub,” Harry giggles as he’s spent, the knotted condom now in the trash bin. “I love you more than… having a long hair.”

“You’d better, cunt.”

-

Niall wakes up with the loudest yawn he could muster.

(Yeah, he’s often told he sounds like a cute little koala bear cub.)

“No,” Harry mumbles in his sleep, sounding troubled. “Mother, I will not wear that hideous all-black plaid shirt!”

 _Typical_ , Niall giggles in his thoughts. _Plaid nightmares… should I said plaided?_

“NO!”

“Nice dream,” Niall snorts. “Panic! At the Plaid Shop!”

“Hush,” Niall dodges the pillow flying in his way. “So why are we in a double suite again?”

“Zayn was lucky enough that all it took was a dinner for two with that horridly pasty chick,” Niall rolls his eyes. “Louis was livid though. He told me about the hot _I’m sorry_ sex they had.”

“Do the two of you have a bottoms’ pack or,” Harry laughs when Niall lunges at him with the best position he can muster. “I’m hilarious!”

“Haha, my bones are shaking,” Niall pins his thighs on either side of Harry’s lean waist. “Really, need I remind you that the first time we had sex you spilt half the lube on the sheets?”

“We don’t talk about that,” Harry whines, sounding gravelly and deathly sexy. “Besides, you wouldn’t shut up about how—”

“Remind me to get better friends,” comes a booming voice, a voice Niall and Harry both giggle at.

“Forgot about the Skype call, sorry,” Harry laughs at the flustered looking Louis. “When did I even accept the call?”

“You didn’t, the laptop didn’t hang up last evening,” Louis retorts. “Oh, things are fine between me and Zayn, thanks for asking.”

“We didn’t ask, you dolt,” Harry replies fondly. “By the way, did you see Jamie Dornan’s ass?”

“Haha, as gay as I can be, I don’t go on—okay, maybe,” Louis flushes crimson red. “Not on screen, those yummy adverts.”

“I hear you!” The furious possessive boyfriend’s voice booms from what must be the shower stall. “NEVER FORGET ME.”

“Yeah, yeah, _parfaite catastrophe_ ,” Louis says the words in that French accent of his. From the first day on, that never had any effects on him, unlike 95% of the school they went to.

“Cute nicknames,” Niall points out. “French, and hard to understand, but still cute.”

“Us Belgians are super romantic!” Louis huffs. “We’re the French-y neighbours of the Netherlands, of course we’re better than those people.”

“Hardy har,” Harry rolls his eyes. “And Niall, don’t.”

“Harry seems to be affected by an illness that makes him roll his eyes all the time,” Niall remarks. “But hey, Labour Day no school!”

“Zayn says he’s taking me out to a park,” Louis shrugs. “Perks of going to a local university by the name of SFU and UBC—no long distance shite.”

“How bloody awesome,” Niall grumbles in that perfect Irish accent he can imitate. “So when’s the Reading Break?”

“February 9th-February 13th,” Louis shrugs as a naked Zayn strolls in with a towel hung low. “Say hi, Zayn!’

“Fuck off,” Zayn says in his usual tone. “I was supposed to ‘shag’ him after the shower but noooooo, you fuckers wanted to call.”

“Can I see my gorgeous best friends?” Niall pouts in the way he does with Harry when he says no to desserts after dining out.

“Yes,” Zayn rolls his eyes. “And before you ask, Harold, we aren’t having an orgy.”

“Well fuck you too, Malik.”

-

**December**

“A word with you, Niall?”

This is the fourth time Niall was caught doing… explicit things with Harry via text messages and Professor Breslin, the Music Theory/History head, isn’t the best to please.

“I’ve been in your position once,” the professor’s lilting tone doesn’t soothe Niall at all. “When I was your age, of course.”

“I’m twenty,” Niall flushes. “Well, soon-to-be but still counts.”

“My point is,” his hazel amber eyes flash something that shouldn’t be there—compassion? “You have to end it with him, not the relationship kind, but the whole deeply in love with him shit. I get that concept of love is easy to fall for, but you can’t be in this university and still try to keep up with the love fest.”

“You’re full of shit,” Niall grits at the much larger professor. “Just because you’re the head of the Music Department—”

“Niall, don’t play stupid,” the Canadian accent is replaced with much familiar Irish one. “Don’t say you don’t remember your dearest uncle’s acquaintance.”

-

Harry knows the cards he’s dealt with. The girls, sadly, don’t get that he’s gay and he’s not the best person when it comes to telling people to fuck off.

Hence the reason why there’s a throng of bitches in his lunch table.

“Brienne,” Harry starts with a sigh.

“It’s Briana,” she corrects.

“I’m—oh hi baby!” Harry hurls the girls from his lap and lunges at Niall, crashing their lips together. Niall is more than surprised from the sudden attack, his arms encasing Harry into that familiar feel of warmth and love.

“You’re fucking gay?” Briana, or whatever the Blondie Number 3’s name is, screeches. “This is so unfair!”

“Get ready to sprint,” Harry signals Niall.

“We’re making fan clubs!” The only redhead exclaims.

-

“Marry me,” is the first thing Niall hears when he wakes up.

“What,” Niall grouses, reaching for his glasses he wears in the morning hours.

“Shit,” Harry curses, his hair a mess, eyes trained on the…

Is that a fucking—

“RING?” Niall screeches, his eyes no longer under the sleeping spell. “HELL FUCKING YEAH.”

“This isn’t for you…” Harry sighs. “Zayn got this for Louis and I’m safe-keeping it?”

“Bullshit, I know for a fact Louis found his ring couple weeks ago under his _cleanup_ bag,” Niall rolls his eyes. “Is there something you’d like to ask, Edward?”

“I’m not ready for this, fuck no,” Harry tears at his curls. “Niall James Horan, you cunt king, I fell under your charms the day we met, when we were merely four years old. You had that Prince Aurora shirt on, the one you still keep, by the way, and fuck, I wanted to kiss you. Our first kiss was for your 10th birthday, a small peck meant for your cheek but you had to turn your head and make it a lip-lock.

“Our lives weren’t perfect and they weren’t meant to be, but you made it so fucking good, Niall. For the longest time, I knew I can’t live without you and we’re young—forever—in our hearts so hear me, you fucking idiot.” Harry takes a deep breath. “Fucking marry me, you bastard.”

“Ever a man of his words,” Niall giggles, taking Harry’s large hand in both hands. “But promise one thing.”

“Anything.”

“We move to Ireland.”

-

**Ten months later, at the prenuptial**

“You English eejit,” Niall giggles drunkenly as the string quartet plays their engagement song, none other than Kelly Clarkson’s _Heartbeat Song_. “I knew— _hic_!—that you were an idiot but— _hic_!—I can’t feckin’— _hic, hic_!”

“Idiot,” Harry mumbles dotingly.

Zayn had to spurge out on their engagement party, hosted by Louis, sadly, and the said couple are actually at the podium, thinking no one’s watching them fucking with clothes on.

As the time flew by, Niall’s _Canadian_ accent was completely replaced by the harsh-and-brooding Irish one, a really cute feature if anyone asks Harry. They were sticking to martinis and tequilas but no, Niall had to hose down a pint of Irish brew.

“I’m taking the bride,” Harry yells out at Zayn, who replies with the flick of his middle finger.

 

“I’m so hot,” Niall giggles, submerged in the bathtub that’s the size of a small swimming pool. “Like, when Bressie kissed me—”

“I’m sorry, are you that drunk?” Harry frowns, tapping at Niall’s nose with his thumb. “You never kissed someone that’s not me, sweetie.”

“No, I have!” Niall sounds more than just a bit intoxicated. “When we were four, or six? Professor Breslin kissed me lips!”

“Sleep.”

-

Niall wakes up with the biggest hangover and yeah, he was drunk enough to make things up with Harry. He knows for a fact that Brez never snogged him, or kissed, but he needs to break up with Harry, whether their hearts like it or not.

Being the businessmen that his parents are, he is to marry an Irish and powerful person and Breslin is that. He owns a line of medium-sized shops all over Europe, and that’s just a beginning. As a cover-up professor, Breslin has been watching Niall and he bloody knew that.

“Harry…” Niall trips over the air. “We need to talk.”

“What the hell does your mum mean, I can’t marry you?” Harry waves the text from his mum, Maura Gallagher-Horan.

“I can’t,” Niall looks straight into hellfire-green of Harry’s fury. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Styles.”

“Have you no shame that you don’t know how you betrayed me?” Harry seethes, his tall body bracketing Niall so easily against the fucking wall. “Lost in your lies?”

“Now’s not a time—”

“I KNOW WHO YOU ARE,” Harry bellows, the words ricocheted into the distilled air. “Never will, never was a fool by your antics.”

“We’re—”

“In love, forever,” Harry finishes, the sudden change of demeanor scaring Niall for the first time. “You leave, I leave.”

“Harry…”

“Fifteen years I’ve been in love with you,” Harry goes on, fists forming on Niall’s white t-shirt.  “All my life, I knew I’d marry you, whether it’s on face of Earth or down in Hell.”

“Don’t—”

“You ended this,” Harry is full out scaring Niall again. “On a whim to please your Mummy dearest but guess what? You’ll never get rid of me.”

The kiss isn’t gentle or something Niall is used to. It’s ferocious, teeth tugging and nipping at the lower tier of Niall’s, hands bunching into Niall’s shirt, wrinkling and marking his territory; if Niall knew any better, Harry is _begging_.

“Stay,” Harry has both their shirts removed, hands clawed in the waistband of their pyjama bottoms.

“No,” Niall shakes his head adamantly, his eyes closed from the pain.

“Stay,” Harry’s voice breaks a little bit, his lips closed around Niall’s bud. He can feel their naked arousals.

“N—no,” Niall repeats, his arms reaching behind for purchase.

“I’m not asking again,” Harry declares, slippery, lube-covered fingers pushing into Niall’s passage.

“Harry—”

 

Harry’s lovemaking skills aren’t questionable, it’s just the way they’ve been the whole life. Slow and burning the first time, as Niall recalls, and this is a copy of that time.

“Stay,” Harry’s lips move against Niall’s ear-shell, garnering chilled shivers despite the heat of their bodies.

“Can’t.” _What my heart won’t._

“Stay,” Harry asks soulfully, that little connection they call _first love_ resonating the fears. “I can’t…”

“I—”

The younger of the two picks up his pace, the slow, gentle movements replaced by the harsh, fast strokes that Niall isn’t used to. His body screams from pleasure, the mind-blowingly rough nudges against his prostate being the major factor. He clings to Harry with his body, heart and mind, letting the numbness take over.

 _Can’t make you stay with me, I won’t let them kill you_.

**Author's Note:**

> I FEEL LIKE EVERYONE LOVES THIS SERIES (I'm still thinking about the series title, gimme a week to anaylise Sam Smith songs) MORE THAN MY ZIALLER PORNSTAR ONE.


End file.
